


Spare The Rod

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Gagged!Cas, Gen, Hurt Castiel, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Spanking, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Takes Care of Castiel, Scared Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-15 23:15:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16073408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Dean is sick and tired of Sam and Cas putting themselves at risk, especially over the Mark.He needs to teach them a lasting lesson.So he will. One neither of them will ever forget.





	Spare The Rod

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt at the kink meme.

As soon as Dean pulled Sam’s door to, his little brother threw himself against it. Dean rolled his eyes, and rapped his knuckles sharply on the wood.

“You’re just gonna hurt yourself, Sammy. Look, just accept it, man. You’re in there for a while.”

 _Until I’ve dealt with Cas, at least_.

Dean headed back to the war room where he’d left the angel. Damn the two of them; none of this would be necessary if they’d just listen to him. But, no. No, everything was suddenly all about the new body art he was sporting, and how it was _changing_ him.

The only _change_ was that he was fed up of their bullshit. He was fed up with them doing stupid things and getting hurt. He was fed up cleaning up their messes.

One of these days, either or both of them would do something he couldn’t fix. Maybe they’d even end up dead, and Dean was beyond trying to reason with them, fighting to keep them safe.

What they both needed was a behavioural adjustment.

Sam would be harder; Dean would have to think how to handle his little brother.

But Cas? Oh, he knew what to do with Cas.

The angel was still where Dean had left him: sitting in the chair, anchored there by the sigil Dean had etched into the back before shoving Cas into it.

“Dean,” he said, voice rough, angry, hurt, _worried_. “What have you done with Sam? This isn’t you, Dean.”

He stood there, staring at Cas, wondering what it would take for Cas to get it. Or rather _how many_ it would take for Cas to get it.

They had all night, though Dean was hoping it wouldn’t take that long. He didn’t actually want to hurt Cas, but if he had to…

He’d hurt Cas to save him, and maybe there’d be a lesson in this for Sam as well.

Dean pulled Cas to his feet, and the angel grunted as the magic stretched and settled around him again, but then Dean had sat in his place. Then he tugged Cas down, arranging him so he was face down over Dean’s knees.

Cas tugged at the rope binding his wrists together, and only succeeded in tearing his skin. Dean rested a hand there, stilling Cas's movements, and that earned him a frustrated huff.

“What are you doing?”

Dean shook his head. Anybody else would have got it by now, but Cas had probably never had this done to him.

In a way, Dean figured that’d make it more effective.

“You’ll figure it out.”

“Dean, what-Dean!”

Dean didn’t ease Cas into it. He swatted him hard on the ass with his hand, and kept going. Hit after hit, each one hard, each one felt from the way Cas struggled and protested, but Dean knew Cas’s Grace was acting as a buffer between the angel and any real pain.

Right now, Cas was more indignant and off kilter than anything else. Dean was going to fix that.

He paused, catching his breath, and rested his hand in the centre of Cas’s back.

“You gotta learn to listen to me, Cas. When I tell you no on something, you gotta just trust me and go with it.”

“I don’t understand,” Cas said. And then, just proving that Dean had made the right call, and that he should've done this before, he said, “This is the Mark talking, Dean. Please, let me up; we can help you.”

Dean picked up the strap from the table. It had taken nearly an hour that morning to carefully scratch the sigils into it; one mistake and it would just be a length of leather in his hand. Or it would be something that would do lasting, irreversible damage to Cas. While Dean wanted him to remember this, that wasn’t how.

He raised his arm, and then brought the strap down sharply on Cas’s ass.

Cas gave a small, stunned cry. “Dean! Dean, stop…. Dean!”

“Sorry, Cas.” And he genuinely was. Sorry for not doing this before, for not taking steps way back when he could maybe have headed off the situation where beating the crap out of the angel was the only way left.

He did it again, and again and again and Cas held his breath, only to gasp Dean's name in a strangled voice. 

And then Dean must have hit a little harder or came down again on an already aching spot, because Cas screamed. 

His voice echoed back through the halls and, a moment later, Sam answered. 

“Cas! Cas, what's going on? Dammit, Dean, what are you doing? Leave him alone! Cas!”

Dean set the strap down. He wished he hadn't had to stop because it would be all the harder on Cas when he started up again. 

But he didn't really have a choice. He couldn't do this and listen to Cas's screams. 

The rag and duct tape were on the table. Dean tore off a strip and then crammed the rag into the angel’s mouth and sealed it in there with the tape. 

Cas gave a muffled yell of protest, and managed to twist his head around enough to stare at Dean. 

His face was tear streaked and another fat drop welled up and rolled slowly down his cheek. 

Dean cupped Cas's face, and felt the tear touch his skin. 

Sam was still yelling and Dean wished he’d stop. He couldn’t even make out the words now; it was just noise, and it was setting his teeth on edge, and he needed to focus…

He laid into Cas again, slapping the strap hard against his ass, and Cas was still crying out, and Dean imagined some of those muffled words he heard were his name.

Dean didn’t let up. He kept going until he was aware of two things. 

One, that Sam had finally shut up. 

Two, that Cas wasn't moving. 

Dean threw the strap down and only then realised how sore his shoulder was. Sore to the point where he literally couldn't feel anything else. 

How long had he been doing that? Beating Cas?

The angel's slacks were dark and damp and Dean rested his hand there a moment. 

It came away bloody. 

He lifted Cas carefully, turning him over and set him down on the table. 

There was resistance from the anchor he'd carved into the chair, but he kicked at it, cracking the back right through the sigils, and then he tore the tape free from Cas's mouth and tugged out the rag. 

Cas looked like hell. 

His mouth hung open, slack. Dean stood frozen for a moment and then he clumsily felt for Cas's pulse. 

It was there, steady, and he slumped, bracing his arms on the table. If Cas was gone, there'd be no pulse. That was his body. His presence kept it functioning. 

He was just passed out. 

_Because you beat him unconscious_. 

But he had to. Cas...Sam...they had to learn and this was the lesson and maybe…. Maybe this time, it would take. 

Still…. Cas had to be cared for, now, and Dean didn't think the angel would accept that from him. Eventually Cas would forgive him, but in the meantime…

Dean went back to Sam's room, mindful that his little brother might not take too well to this, and opened the door. 

Sam eyed him, warily, but there was fury there too. And fear. 

“What did you do, Dean? Where's Cas? It's been hours.”

Hours. 

“Come on,” he told Sam, then added, “and don’t try one single thing, Sam, or back in you go and that leaves no one to help Cas.”

When they reached the war room, Sam yelled Cas's name and pushed past Dean to run to him. 

Dean held back, watched as Sam felt for a pulse, turned Cas over, untied him, took in the scene. Cas's bloody pants, the belt, the rag, the tape. 

He looked at Dean brokenly. 

“Get him to the infirmary,” Dean said. “Clean him up.”

He started to turn away when Sam called out to him. 

“Dean, please.”

Dean looked back at them both. Sam with Cas in his arms. Cas, beaten until he bled. 

“I have to do this, Sam. There's no other way. Now go take care of him.”

And, just in case Sam got any bright ideas, Dean went upstairs and locked the door.

No getting out that way. Not now he had all the keys.


End file.
